


A Week in Winter

by Aenaria



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy/Steve Holiday Fic/Art Exchange, F/M, Secret Relationship, attempts at humor, emphasis on the word attempts, stuck in a snowstorm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being snowbound for a week is exhausting no matter how you try and fancy it up.  Being snowbound on a remote S.H.I.E.L.D. base for a week, over New Year’s, amidst nosy and bored field agents, while trying to keep your relationship secret?  That’s a special sort of hell.  Steve and Darcy will be lucky if they make it out of this one unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Week in Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imogen_Penn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imogen_Penn/gifts).



> My entry in the Steve/Darcy Holiday Fic/Art Exchange! Er...or at least part one of it. For some reason I seem incapable of writing shorter stories or posting in a timely fashion, so I’m putting up part one to make it relatively close to the deadline, with part two to follow in a few days. My assignment is for Imogen_Penn, who requested the following: 
> 
> Stuck in a snowstorm  
> No one to kiss at New Years  
> Love Actually AU
> 
> The story’s mostly the first with a hint of the second in there. Imogen, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to Mcgregorswench for the speedy beta, and for getting this whole shindig organized. :)
> 
> Also, the story takes place in that vague time period between Thor: The Dark World and Winter Soldier. I also need to stop watching Vikings as I write, because one of my side characters looks alarmingly like Katheryn Winnick...
> 
> Okay, enough author’s notes, that’s not what you’re here to read. ;)

December 27

 

If the situation is anything but what it was, the sight in front of Steve would be an absolute lovely one. The tree is little but sturdy, and still smelling of pine even after being on display for weeks. A few brightly wrapped packages remain beneath the tree, just waiting to be opened. The twinkling lights ringing the little tree cast multihued dots on the sweeping waves of white snow right outside the window. And the snow extends on in all directions, an expansive and quiet backdrop that surrounds the SHIELD base.

 

And therein lies the problem. "What do you mean it's going to take a week for the next transport to show up?" Steve asks as he tears his eyes away from the tree to stare at the base's Operations Manager.

 

The Operations Manager, a smallish man who manages to look dapper even in a fleece pullover and insulated boots, shrugs apologetically as he clutches his clipboard in front of him like a shield. "That's life near the Arctic Circle, I'm afraid," he says. "The weather's a bit rough up here, and not even the Quinjets can fly easily through a snowstorm. So unless it's an absolute emergency, you're just going to have to ride out the storm."

 

Steve bites back the sigh. It's certainly not the base's fault that the weather's throwing a wrench into his plans. In fact, they'd opened their arms willingly to his strike team when they'd showed up unannounced in the aftermath of a mission that hadn't gone smoothly at all. He'd managed to get all of his team home, at least, even if it meant he missed Christmas (the first Christmas with his girl, no less...at least she understood all of the vagaries associated with dating a SHIELD agent).

 

Captain goes down with the ship, after all.  And if it's a ship that's stranding him in the middle of the snow and ice, all the better.

 

Despite what some people he knows think, sarcasm is not a modern invention.

 

"All right. Thank you for the update, Agent Wordin. I'll see if I can make myself useful in the meantime," Steve says, running a hand over the back of his neck.

 

"With the exception of battening down the hatches for the storm, we're pretty quiet here right now. Skeleton crew for the holidays and all that." Wordin jerks a thumb at the chipper little Christmas tree. "So just enjoy the vacation on SHIELD."

 

"Maybe I'll take up skiing."

 

Instead of hanging around the rec area Steve strolls through echoing, metal lined corridors over to the jet hangar. He'd never want to risk anyone's life needlessly, but if someone's flying out of there anyway maybe they'd be able to give him a ride.

 

'Getting a little desperate, there,' he thinks. However the sight that greets him when he walks into the hangar bay is a surprising one, but a good sight at that.

 

"All right, explain this to me one more time," Darcy Lewis says, waving her hands in the air. "How did I end up here with half of Doctor Foster's equipment, while the other half is in Morocco? There's a big difference between this giant snowball and Casablanca!"

 

The agent's explanation is long and winding, and boils down to basically the same thing that Wordin had told Steve a few minutes before: the weather is wretched and travel plans need to be adjusted accordingly.

 

Darcy's eyes close behind her glasses and a pained look comes over her face.  "Jane is so going to kill me," she mutters.

 

"Where are you headed?" Steve asks, heading over to the other two.

 

Darcy turns to look at him, and for the briefest moment he can see surprise steal over her face.  It's quickly tamped down into something calmer, however, and she says, "Captain Rogers.  Fancy seeing you here."

 

"You two know each other?" the agent asks.

 

"Miss Lewis.  We travel in some of the same circles in D.C.," he replies to the agent, who has the glazed, starstruck look on his face that Steve's spotted on the faces of some of the newer agents whenever he comes around.

 

"The Faeroe Islands.  Instead I'm stuck here on Azkaban," Darcy states, shooting the agent another glare.

 

The agent looks far les starstruck at the sight of Darcy, however, and he just shakes his head.  "Might as well get used to it until the snow stops," he says.  "In the meantime you can stay here.  We've got plenty of extra bunks."  He looks over at Steve again.  "Agent Wordin said to pass on to you, Captain, that all flights in or out have been suspended until further notice due to weather."

 

Steve purses his lips.  "That's fine."

 

"Is there any way you can get the team in Morocco to send me an inventory list of what equipment they have there?" Darcy asks, leaning forward.

 

"Shouldn't be a problem.  Just hang tight here a moment and I'll see about getting you set up with a bed for the night."

 

As soon as the agent walks off Steve grabs the sleeve of Darcy's coat and tugs her over to stand against the wall in a nice, shadowed alcove.  "What happened?" he asks in a hushed voice.

 

Darcy's face crumples, and an undignified noise comes out of her mouth.  Her head drops forward and she bangs it against his shoulder a few times.  "Jane was called up last week for a S.H.I.E.L.D. consult in the Faeroe Islands.  A bit sudden, but it dovetails nicely with her research.  She and Thor are in London with her mother for Christmas, however, so she asked me to escort all of her specialized equipment there.  Which somehow ended up on two separate planes, one of which is in freaking Casablanca and the other here in...wherever we are."

 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. Base Thule."

 

“Which is very cold and now I’m stuck here because of the stupid weather.”  She sucks in a deep breath, pulling her head back up.  “I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”

 

Steve nods, grimacing slightly.  “Op went bad, the Strike team was evacuated to here to debrief and recover.  I managed to get all of my guys back home in time, but I missed the last flight out because of a teleconference.”  Still, there’s a sudden surprising perk now, thanks to this perfect storm of bad weather and poor coincidences.  “I’m sorry I missed Christmas,” he says, voice dropping lower in the hopes that no one will overhear him.

 

A light flush crosses Darcy’s cheeks, and she glances up at him again.  “Duty calls,” she says with a shrug.  “It’s okay; don’t worry about it.  And anyway,” she shrugs, lips twisting into a slight smile, “at least we’ll be together for New Year’s.”

 

Steve opens his mouth to speak, to agree wholeheartedly with her statement, but the sound of footsteps echoing through the hangar makes him snap his mouth shut and take two steps backward from Darcy.  They’re keeping the relationship quiet from S.H.I.E.L.D., at least for now (because lately he’s had a nagging feeling about the agency that isn’t sitting quite right, even though he can’t put his finger on exactly what it is).  And even here in one of the more remote bases in the network gossip can still find its way back to headquarters.  So it’s better to be safe than sorry.  

 

“Ms. Lewis,” Agent Wordin says.  “Your room is ready, if you’d like to put your things away.”

 

“Okay, thanks.”  Darcy nods at Steve, her face much less expressive than before.  “Good to see you again, Captain,” she says, shouldering her bag and following the agents back into the bowels of the base.

 

Steve heads back to his own room then, ready to call it a night and try and catch up on some sorely needed sleep.  He’s still not pleased to be stuck in the frozen wasteland of the north, but it’s slightly reassuring in some small way to know that he’s not alone there anymore.

 

\----------

 

December 28

 

The day moves slowly as the storm howls and whistles along outside, wind pummeling the walls of the base’s buildings with chunks of snow that build up in drifts.  There’s barely any work around the base that Steve can help out with thanks to the weather, so after his morning teleconference with Fury going over the final details of the disastrous operation he heads to the gym to expend some energy that way.  It’s not ideal, there’s only so long he can jog on the treadmill or lift weights, but at least it’s something.

 

He doesn’t spot Darcy until after lunch, huddled over a workstation that has a few pieces of sparkly blue garland ringing the edge of it.  For some reason, he’s not surprised that that’s the  place where Darcy had decided to set up shop.  Her laptop is open in front of her and a cell phone is glued to her ear.  When he walks past her, waving hello, she waves back and then mimes shooting the phone in her other hand.  Steve just shakes his head, grinning, as he moves on by to the mess hall.  Darcy’s frustrated voice rings out after him, asking somebody in Casablanca why they can’t find a specific piece of equipment.

 

When he returns he’s got a wrapped sandwich and bowl of salad for her, and the grateful look on her face makes the entire thing worth it.  “Yeah, all right, get back to me when you find it,” Darcy says into the phone right before she tosses it on the table and groans loudly.  “I hate people,” she whimpers, her head tipping back as she slumps in her chair.

 

“Not all people, I hope,” Steve says.  He pulls a chair over from a neighboring workstation and sits next to her.

 

Darcy smirks, looking over the tops of her glasses at him.  “It takes a special person to get inside my inner circle.”

 

There are a lot of ways Steve could take that line, and a whole variety of mature and not-so-mature responses he could offer back to it.  “Really?” he says, arching an eyebrow.  “Well, you know - “

 

He claps his mouth shut when an agent he hasn’t seen before cuts through the lab room, ignoring them as she moves over to one of the other desks.  When she sits down at the desk and boots up a computer, Steve and Darcy share a glance.  So much for privacy, Steve mouths.

 

Darcy nods in response, looking thoughtful.  She rips a piece of paper out of her notebook and scribbles something down on it hastily, then folds it and hands it to Steve.  He glances over at the agent, who’s typing quick and loud on her keyboard - and obviously not paying too much attention to them.  So he unfolds the note, reading it quickly.  ‘ _In room B33 - come visit me later tonight?_ ’  The words leave him feeling warm inside, for the first time in a while.

 

He nods at her, then stands up and moves the chair back.  “I’ll leave you to your food,” he says.  “Good speaking to you, Ms. Lewis.”

 

“You too, Captain.”

 

The day passes far too slowly after that.

 

Eventually the base closes down for the night, even the skeleton crew reducing to minimal numbers for the guard shifts.  Once that happens, and the only noises Steve's sensitive ears can make out are the whirs and clicks of electronic systems and vague hints of soft breathing, that's when Steve slips out of his assigned room in the barracks and makes his way stealthily over to the guest quarters where Darcy's staying.

 

"This room is nicer than mine," he says once she's firmly locked and barred the door behind him.  The bunk Steve's been assigned is decidedly spartan, with only the necessities there for agents on short term visits.  Darcy's room is still pretty bare, but the furniture in there is of a slightly nicer wood and the linens look a bit more plush than the S.H.I.E.L.D. standard pieces.

 

"Perks of being a consultant, I think," Darcy replies, moving back to the slightly oversized bed and flopping down on it.  "Is it just me, or are these days where it's mostly dark out pretty exhausting?"

 

Steve crawls onto the bed next to her, burying his face in the pillow as he wraps an arm around Darcy's waist.  "The agents normally stationed here say that it takes some time to get used to.  No offense to them, but I hope I'm not here long enough to find out."

 

"Amen to that."

 

He rolls his head on the pillow, looking at Darcy.  She's at peace, he thinks, even here in this high stress situation. Her eyes are closed, dark lashes a slash against her cheekbones, and her breathing's deep and calm.  "You know, it occurs to me that I haven't kissed you hello yet," Steve says, inching even closer on the mattress.

 

A slow grin spreads across Darcy's face, even though her eyes don't open.  "You should probably fix that, then."

 

Steve bends over to kiss her, at first just a brush of lip against lip, but then she responds greedily, opening her mouth and inviting him inside.  It's fast becoming one of Steve's favorite pastimes, this kissing thing, and he finds that he's a big fan of Darcy's kissing technique.  It's also a great way to start off a night, they've both found out.

 

However, they both realize quickly that this isn't a night to do anything more than kissing when Steve yawns against Darcy's neck, and it sets her off with a yawn.  Then it's too hard to move the hands much more, just enough to strip off jeans and heavy sweaters before falling asleep soundly.

 

\----------

 

December 29

 

"Shit!  Steve, wake up!"  He peels his eyes open to find Darcy shaking his shoulder roughly, teeth sunk into her lower lip with a nervous grimace.

 

"What is it?"

 

"It's almost four-thirty a.m."

 

"Shit."  Shift change was at five am, meaning all of the morning guards would be coming on duty soon - and that the canteen was already up and going to get all of the agents fuelled up with coffee for the dawn shifts.  Steve throws the covers back and grabs for his jeans, barely making sure they're zipped up before shoving his feet into his boots.

 

Darcy leans over and props her chin on his shoulder, watching as he does up his laces.  "Today's going to be even worse than yesterday, isn't it?  I'm this close to you and yet I'm forced to keep my hands off of you?  Pssh."

 

"And you're not tempting?"  Steve pulls her arm around his chest, lacing their fingers together.  "We're both going to have a hard time."

 

"Not as hard as you, apparently.  Loose jeans are your friend to try and disguise that."

 

"Darcy."

 

"Oh, come on, you left yourself wide open for that one.  And don't worry."  She plants a smacking wet kiss on his cheek.  "I'll be sure to wear a covering sweater.  It's cold as balls up here anyway."

 

\----------

 

The official announcement is made at lunch in the canteen that day.  Agent Wordin stands on top of one table and waves his clipboard around.  When that isn't sufficient to get everybody's attention he shoves his fingers in his mouth and lets loose a piercing whistle.  "Hey, listen up!" he yells.  “It is with great pleasure that I can announce that the S.H.I.E.L.D. Base Thule’s New Year’s Eve Party is definitely a go.  There was a little uncertainty there for a while, but now that we’re certain that we’ll have the supplies it’s time to cut loose.  Party starts at 1930 until 0100, and be sure to wear your best combat boots.”

 

The cheer that rises isn’t exactly deafening, but it’s loud enough to fill the room and most definitely heartfelt.  Steve imagines that there’s not too much in the way of entertainment on this base out in the middle of nowhere, so any chance to let their hair down has to be appreciated.  Not that he’s any expert at partying or relaxing, as Darcy has pointed out to him on numerous occasions.  Usually when he’s trying to avoid one of Stark’s celebrity-laden bashes.  Much to her amusement.

 

There are a couple of other agents sitting at his table, and one of them (the taller female, with the braided blonde hair and dark eyes that’s called Ivor) turns to the shorter one with a wicked smirk.  “Okay, bets on who shows up hungover for duty the next morning, and who’s puking in the maintenance closet by 10 am.”  She continues, “There’s always some after every big party,” she says when she catches Steve’s obviously inquisitive look.

 

“You have parties a lot around here?” he asks.

 

“Not as often as we should,” the shorter one, whose flight jacket has a name tag that reads DiMelo, says, with an accent as thick as any he’d heard back on the streets of Brooklyn in his day.  “But I’m pretty sure we’re going to have a movie night after second shift today in honor of our esteemed guests.”   She waves a hand at Steve, and he’s not sure he likes the look of the grin on her face.

 

“I think they’re showing _The Thing_ ,” Ivor chimes in.

 

Before Steve can ask what the movie’s about his cell phone goes off again.  This time it’s Agent Rumlow, who was his second on the disaster mission from hell.  “Excuse me,” Steve says, pushing away from the table with a nod at his phone.  He’s got the sinking feeling that this call’s going to take a while.

 

Sure enough it’s not until it’s almost dinner time that he’s finally free of the latest conference call involving Rumlow, Assistant Director Hill, and a few other higher ups dissecting the Strike team’s movements.  There’s only so many times they can go over what happened; retelling the story won’t change it.  The mission shouldn’t have gone as badly as it did, but trying to find out why is proving to be near impossible.  

 

(Something’s still not sitting right with him about the whole thing.  He’s missing something, some vital piece of information that’ll clear everything up, but he can’t quite see it.  Not yet.)

 

He’s halfway to the canteen when a hand grabs onto his sleeve, and Steve looks down to see Darcy there pulling him into a shaded alcove.  “What’s going on?” he asks, as Darcy looks warily up and down the hallway.

 

“Is there any way you can use your super strength to painlessly break a few bones in my foot?” she asks, her face an uncomfortable grimace.

 

_“Why?”_

 

“I somehow got conned into agreeing to help decorate for this party.  I don’t even know if I actually agreed or not, but all of a sudden I’m assigned to the group who’s in charge of garland.”  Darcy pushes her hair out of her face, and then angrily yanks her hand out of the developing tangle.

 

Steve knows he shouldn’t laugh, that it would just make her even madder and land him in the doghouse for an undetermined length of time.  So he presses his lips together, trying to fight back the smirk.  “I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

 

Darcy frowns.  “I didn’t think it was either, but they got one over on me.”

 

“I meant the painless foot breaking thing.  I hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck.”

 

Darcy practically growls under her breath, and Steve holds back the laughter once more.  He must not do as well with it as before, because Darcy stomps her foot on the ground and jabs an angry finger at his stomach.  “Shut up, you jackass.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, though the grin’s still on his face.

 

She sighs then and slumps against the wall.  “I should be saying that.  Didn’t mean to jump down your throat there.  I’m just a little...stressed?  Stir crazy?  Sex deprived?  I don’t know.  Insert an appropriate ‘S’ word here.”

 

“I know the feeling.”  Steve leans against the wall next to her.  “Being snowbound like this?” he says, leaning over so only Darcy can hear what he’s saying.  “It’s like some of my worst nightmares come to life.  The first good night’s sleep I got in a week was when I stayed in your room.”  It’s not an easy admission to make.  He’s barely able to admit to himself that being stranded in a place that reminds him all too much of where he took a seventy year nap isn’t exactly good for his mental well-being.  But it’s all too true that having her next to him when he tries to get some rest makes it better.

 

Darcy breathes deeply then straightens up, nodding once at him.  “This too shall pass, right?”

 

“As soon as the weather’s clear we’ll be on our way,” Steve agrees.  “In the meantime, there’s a movie showing tonight.  We might not be able to cuddle, but at least we can be in the same room without anyone getting suspicious.”

 

“I like the way you think, Steve.”

 

\----------

 

By some miracle, Darcy’s able to claim a spot on the couch next to him.  “Guest’s prerogative,” she says as she beats a disappointed looking agent to the cushion.  On the other side of him Ivor smirks, waving a hand at the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, who just huffs and goes off to find another seat.

 

“You’re a popular guy tonight, Cap,” Ivor says, her sharp eyes taking in the markedly female population of the rec room.  One agent turns around and gives Steve a flirty smile and wink, which just makes him slump down further in his seat and cross his arms over his chest.  “Oh, to be popular,” she says, playing with the end of her ponytail.

 

Darcy pats his shoulder briefly.  “It could be worse,” she says as the movie blinks into life on the screen.

 

As soon as the title comes up on the screen, Darcy’s hand slides off of his shoulder and she groans loudly.  “Oh, you have got to be freakin’ kidding me!” she yelps.

 

Ivor just cackles.


End file.
